


A Dark Facet

by White_Rainbow



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Kind of requited love really, M/M, Pining, Sexual Humor, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Excerpt:On most occasions Orson’s badgering, consisting mostly of drumming on his desk for attention or regaling him with lewd jokes, was met with a chilly glare or an utterance of disgust, but every now and then, and always when he least expected it, Krennic would get Galen to smile. It was always subtle, just a slight pull on those wide, shapely lips, but it was all Orson needed. After spotting that first crack in Galen’s defenses, it became an addiction for Orson to find that smile again and again.It was in their third year in the program that Orson finally got Galen to laugh.Everything changed after that...





	

**Author's Note:**

> <3 A special thank you to [dustorming](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Duststorm/pseuds/Duststorm/works) for being my beta reader for this! <3
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! [White-Rainbowff](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/)

The honor and prestige of being a part of the Coruscant University’s Futures Program was a rarity that most students could only dream of achieving. 

Orson Krennic, however, saw the advanced program as merely a low rung in a very tall ladder leading to his own greatness. 

The Futures Program was not so much a tool for Orson’s academic advancement, but rather an opportunity for Orson to size up his possible competition once he entered into the real world to make a name for himself. 

It suited him for a time, but like all things in Orson Krennic’s life, the Futures Program and those associated with it quickly lost their luster and Orson found himself struggling to find something or someone that could sustain his interest. 

That’s when Galen Erso came into his life.

At nineteen, in his second year of the Futures Program, Orson had received Galen Erso as his new dorm mate. Galen was quiet and unassuming, taking up little space and barely uttering a word to Orson in the first few months they were roomies. Orson found the boy to be infuriating and yet somehow endearing at the same time. Galen was Orson's antithesis in every sense of the word. Orson prided himself on his healthy sleep schedule and his refined palate for fine foods, whereas Galen often ate to barely function and sleep was something he seldom seemed to do lest it was passing out from exhaustion at his desk. Orson was a master of social engagements, able to adapt to any conversation at any time no matter the subject or the audience. Galen, on the other hand, often was found tongue-tied or droning on about kyber crystals or his latest tests of soil samples that often sent others into a state of ennui. And above all, Orson knew how to relax. While Orson spent his weekends in an indulgent haze of spice and drink, Galen devoted every waking moment with his nose in a textbook, hunched over in the lab or glued to his desk feverishly scribbling pages upon pages of nonsensical notes. 

Orson had many times tried to pry Galen away from his obsessive, exhausting lifestyle; sometimes literally having to pull on his arm to drag him outside. And almost always Galen had responded with a “Go have fun. Be the social butterfly you were born to be.” 

To that Orson always scoffed. Orson detested the word “socializing” since what he was doing was far more productive than that. Orson was  _ networking,  _ exercising his boyish good-looks, easy smile and sharp wit to charm his fellow students until he cultivated quite a entourage of fans. It was for more than just vanity. Any and all relationships he built in the program may prove useful to him at some point in the future. By the end of that first year, Orson had managed to associate himself with most of the students and even some of the professors at the university, keeping them in his pocket until he could determine whether they were truly worthy of his time or not. 

Meanwhile Galen remained completely isolated, speaking to no one save for Krennic and only because Krennic spent so much time badgering the uptight scientist. Orson couldn't resist but goad Galen mercilessly like a curious pup trying to pry open a shell that Galen so vehemently refused to open. 

On most occasions Orson’s badgering, consisting mostly of drumming on his desk for attention or regaling him with lewd jokes, was met with a chilly glare or an utterance of disgust, but every now and then, and always when he least expected it, Krennic would get Galen to smile. It was always subtle, just a slight pull on those wide, shapely lips, but it was all Orson needed. After spotting that first crack in Galen’s defenses, it became an addiction for Orson to find that smile again and again. 

It was in their third year in the program that Orson finally got Galen to laugh.

Everything changed after that...

All-Species week was in full-swing in the streets of Coruscant. Most of the students were still out in the streets celebrating covered in beads, confetti and drowning in vast amounts of spirits. A rather inebriated Orson looked at the crowd and realized the festivities were severely lacking a one Galen Erso. Downing the rest of his colorful drink, Krennic staggered his way back to the dorm. 

He had dropped his keycard several times before successfully picking it up and swiping it clumsily through the digital lock. The door hissed open and he meandered in, finding Galen predictably at his desk, hands laced through his shaggy brown hair, broad back hunched over his desk. 

First, Krennic leaned against the unstable bookshelf which wobbled precariously, knocking over several books before standing upright again. After a quick reposition, he leaned against the more solid wall. 

“Hey, Gal,” he said in a cadence that sounded suave to his own ears. 

“Hey,” murmured Galen, his dark eyes never leaving his datapad, lines upon lines of gray text scrolled along the screen. At the top of the screen, in thick block letters, was the text’s title:  _ Principles and Applications of Geochemistry and Kyber Crystal Algorithms.  _   
Something about the insincerity of Galen’s greeting irked Orson more than usual. 

“That's all I get?” Orson pressed, “Just a ‘hey’?” 

At this Galen looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed and his strong jaw tightened with irritation. With slow purpose, he tapped the screen and the book minimized. Galen folded his large hands and rested them over the sleeping datapad “I'm sorry,” he said curtly, “would you have preferred I rose from my seat when you entered? Perhaps give you a standing ovation?”   
Krennic stiffened. “Yeah actually. In fact, one day, that's what I expect  _ everyone  _ to do when I walk into a room. Nothing, but cheers and standing ovations.”

Galen’s eye twitched. “You are insufferable, Orson Krennic.”

Krennic gasped and touched his chest as if hurt. “Insufferable? You should feel so lucky to know me now, Galen Erso. One day you’ll be standing among them boasting how you knew me before I was the Champion of the Galactic Republic.   
The snort that came from Galen’s nose was not quite a laugh but that elusive smile did threaten to shine for just the briefest of moments. Krennic’s heart skipped and he seized the moment, flashing Galen his most disarming smile. “You don’t believe me?” he said in a low, breathy tone, slowly walking towards Galen’s desk. “You don't think that I am destined for greatness unlike my scientific genius of a roommate?”   
Galen rolled his eyes and flipped on his datapad, which Orson snatched away before Galen could stop him. 

The mirth evaporated entirely from Galen’s dashing face and he glowered at Orson. 

“Hand it over, Krennic.”   
The sound of his last name on Galen’s downturned lips sobered Orson up a bit and he now found himself in an awkward position. Either he was going to kowtow to his roommate and apologize hoping his search for that hidden smile wasn’t futile tonight or…he could just continue to agitate Galen further and hope for the best. And in his tired, inebriated mind, Orson chose the latter. 

Galen stood up and Orson took a step back, drawing up to his full height and lifting the datapad over his head. 

“Come and get it then,” Krennic grinned, mischievously. 

As Galen approached him, Orson grew a little nervous. Despite having height on Galen, the brooding scientist had bulk. Being so broad-shouldered and surprisingly muscular for someone who prefered to stay indoors, if Galen actually wanted the datapad he probably could take it easily from Krennic’s tall, lean form. 

_ But then maybe that would have been part of the fun _ .   
Galen stopped disappointingly short, however,  considering Orson for a moment before turning away, heading towards Krennic’s desk on the other side of the room. 

“Wait, no,” Krennic said, but Galen had already rooted out Orson’s own datapad on the desk cluttered with protein bar wrappers and doodled notes. 

“No, if I can't have my pad back, then I’ll just use yours. Let’s see, what do we have in here?” Galen’s eyebrows rose. “You  _ do  _ have a Geochemical text as well?”

Krennic laugh for a split second before his face froze. 

“Wait, not that one,” he blurted, lunging forward to snatch the datapad away, but Galen was too quick, already pulling up the text and flipping through page after page of scribblings over the actual text. “Stars, Orson,” Galen said, “this is practically a child’s art book, do you pay attention in class at all?”

Galen suddenly stopped scrolling. His eyes widened. 

And Orson wilted, heat rushing to his face while his body chilled with panic. “I can explain that,” he said, weakly.   
Galen stared at a diagram of covalent bonds that Orson had “improved” to reflect pairs of elements joined together with an extraordinary amount of stylus-drawn penises. Some of the penises were in fact unloading their contents into the atoms themselves. In scribbled handwriting next to the diagram were the words “covalent dongs.”

Orson opened his mouth to say something else, but...the most beautiful sound he had ever heard shattered the awkward silence.    
It was a deep, husky sort of laugh born from Galen’s chest, which convulsed slightly as he held the datapad close to him. His eyes squeezed shut as the laugh grew louder, more uncontrolled; his smile was brilliant, consuming his face, obliterating any trace of that seriousness Orson was convinced was a facade. On Orson’s most deliberate attempts to make his roommate laugh, he could not have hoped for results like this. All because he was obscenely bored in his science course.    
Time froze around them as Orson watched this beautiful boy come undone with joy in front of him. He had no idea if he would ever experience this moment again and he wanted to savor every nanosecond of it.    
When it eventually died down, the two of them looked at each other in shared silence. Galen’s eyes still glittered with mirth, Orson’s gaze was soft and calm. It was not something he felt often and like that laugh he didn’t know when he would experience this feeling ever again.

Orson rubbed the back of his neck. “If you like my work, I can always commission something for you,” he grinned.

Galen afforded him a smirk. “No, no, I think I have had my fill of your masterpieces.”

“More like mastur-”

“Orson, no,” Galen said quickly, but that smile stayed on his lips for a long while. He handed the datapad to Orson and Orson saw his chance slowly unfurl in front of him.

He moved passed the datapad and slid his palm over Galen’s knuckles. They were surprisingly rough, and rugged, and Krennic realized that he spent most of his days either digging in the dirt on lab days or buried in a book. It was a good balance, gentle and rugged. A man of simple needs with a confounding intellect. 

Galen did not pull away when Orson closed the distance between them with a slow, deliberate step. He did not withdraw when Orson gently pried the datapad out of Galen’s hand and tossed it on his desk. He did not protest when Orson brushed away the stringy lock of brown hair away from that broad, masculine face that demured at his touch. 

“What are you doing?” Galen breathed.

“Is it not obvious?” Orson’s lips ghosted over Galen’s cheek.

Galen’s dark eyelashes fluttered.  “Orson…”

Orson purred. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to finally hear you call me that…”

“You smell like brandy,” Galen stuttered. 

“A little…” Orson admitted. He continued to whisper kisses over his stubbled cheeks, gliding his lips towards that mouth that had blessed him with smiles and laughter that night. 

“I don’t want complications,” Galen said, his eyes hooded, his tongue darting out subconsciously to wet his lips.

Orson seized the opportunity to nip at that bottom lip, drawing out a soft sigh from the man. “I am far from complicated.” Orson said, daring to draw his body closer. He was holding back considerably, resisting the urge to push Galen onto the mess he called a desk and grind into him until one or both of them came from the sheer intensity of it all. But no, he knew Galen well enough to know he lacked experience and this would go at whatever pace the gentle scientist saw fit.

“I doubt that,” Galen retorted, taking it upon himself to lean against the edge of the wood desk, scraps of paper and wrappers crinkled beneath Galen’s hands as he braced himself. 

Orson’s heart thrummed in his chest. Was this truly happening? “Galen, have a little faith in me. I do not take this lightly. I would not take  _ us _ lightly.” He felt as if he were campaigning for this pleasure as he spoke, his hands now slipping around Galen’s waist. “If this is something you want, I promise you I would be entirely devoted to it. You do want this, don't you?”

Galen swallowed visibly, but said nothing. Soberness hit Orson like a slap in the face. He realized that Galen’s hands had not reciprocated the embrace. In fact they were still gripping onto the desk. He could feel the man’s breath quiver against the skin of his neck and Orson suppressed a delightful shiver, less he lose himself to his more basic instincts.

“Galen,” he said, the words dragging out of him, dreading to hear the response. “Do you want this?”

_ “Yes, stars, yes, please take me...right here...on the desk, Orson,”  _ Was what Orson desperately wanted to hear.

“I...don’t really know.” Galen exhaled a sharp breath. Orson pulled away and looked hard into the man’s eyes. Those beautiful hooded eyes that stared back at him with a mixture of mutual need and clouded with uncertainty.

Orson drew in a deep breath, releasing Galen from his embrace. His heart sank when he watched Galen immediately relax his body. He silently cursed himself for not seeing the discomfort sooner. The turmoil on Galen’s face was plain now. 

“I apologize,” Orson said, forcing on a smile. 

“No, I should ap-”

Orson rose a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare. I overstepped my bounds.”

“Orson...I just…I’ve never…” A rosy color surfaced on those stubbled cheeks. 

It was as if a boot was grinding relentlessly into Orson’s chest. Of course he has never been with anyone else. When would he have had the time to fraternize? 

_ It was too fast. I should know better than this. _

“I will not press you,” Orson said. He wanted to reach out and stroke that strong jaw of Galen’s, wanted to tilt that chin up so that those dark eyes could see the sincerity in Orson’s gaze.

Instead, Orson took a step back. “If ever...if perhaps you would be interested…” 

Galen nodded, though his acknowledgement was directed more at the floor than Orson, timidity weighing down his gaze. “Perhaps, yes...in time…Just...I’m not ready.”

“Of course,” Krennic said, busying himself with straightening his bed despite intending on collapsing on top of the covers soon. His head beginning to ache. “I will wait patiently. There will be no pressure from me.”

“Thank you, Orson...I appreciate it.”

Galen and Krennic had remained friends after that night. Their relationship was somewhat strained at first, but eventually they fell into the comfort of their routines. Studies had kept Galen busy, if not consuming him entirely as per usual, and Krennic returned to expanding his horizons beyond the limits of the Futures Program, leaving the program early to join the Corps of Engineers. 

Krennic never pressed Galen after that night. When they did find time to spend together, Orson kept a respectable distance, keeping his hands to himself and maintaining a hope that eventually Galen would make the next move. Orson was patient, he had all the time in the world. 

And besides, it was not like Galen was going anywhere, right? The painfully shy scientist would never find anyone who understood him the way Orson did. No one would ever penetrate those layers of intellect to find the spark that Krennic had almost unleashed. 

No one that is until Lyra came into Galen Erso’s life.

Orson knew it was love at first sight even if Galen did not know it himself. 

It was not long before those long-sought-after smiles were directed exclusively to her. And she drew those smiles out effortlessly from Galen.

Time passed…

Krennic joined the Republic...and the Republic crumbled beneath the might of the Empire.

And he watched through an invisible pane of glass as Lyra continued to guide and sway at Galen Erso’s heart the way Orson never could. 

There were not many that Orson Krennic had truly hated in life. He found that hatred bred enemies, which meant burning bridges that might prove useful later. But Orson happily incinerated all bridges with the Erso family when they fled into hiding, abandoning Galen’s kyber crystal research and leaving Orson and his team to struggle and pick up the pieces to complete the battle station’s weapon.

Never for one moment did Orson blame Galen for any of this.

The woman was toxic to him. If not for her, Orson would have eventually won Galen’s heart. He would have given that beautiful genius a life of luxury. He would have groomed and guided him to glory for the Republic and for the new Empire that rose from its ashes. 

Lyra took it all away. 

No, hatred was not a strong enough word…

More time passed and Orson found himself sitting in a lavish office aboard his legacy incarnate, the mobile battle station of the Empire. Though the viewport showed the majesty of open space, Krennic’s chair was turned away from the awesome sight. He hunched over his desk, gazing at a single image on his datapad, though his focus was directed inward. 

Director Orson Krennic’s life glittered with promise like a multi-faceted kyber crystal, each side reflecting the many triumphs of Krennic’s past and many more victories in his future as the weaponized battlestation continued to develop. And yet despite this dazzling gem-like destiny there existed a single dark facet, forever tainted by the loss of Galen Erso. 

Krennic’s vision returned to the datapad, running a gloved hand over the screen. The holoimage of a skinny young man with a boyish smile and striking blue eyes stared back at him. His gangly arm was wrapped around a dark-eyed boy with a shy smile on pursed lips and long brown hair hanging over his face failing to hide his blush. Krennic had taken that photo shortly after he and Galen had met. 

_ “I’m sure we will be the best of friends,”  _ Krennic had insisted, his youthful and often unchallenged optimism fueling his confident declaration.

Perhaps if he had been bolder sooner. Perhaps if he hadn’t taken to badgering Galen so much. Perhaps if Lyra had never been in the picture…

Krennic did not hear the door hiss open, but he did hear the telltale click of heavy boots against the tile. He identified the gait of the man approaching instantly.

“Governor Tarkin,” he said, sourly. He clicked  _ sleep mode _ on his datapad and laid it on the desk.

“Any luck on arresting Dr. Erso?” Tarkin asked, his Imperial accent trilling the r’s of the word “arresting” in an almost mocking fashion. 

“You would be first to hear,” Krennic retorted. 

“Oh I am sure that I would.”

Their eyes locked with the aggression of a pair of mountain goats locking horns. Krennic’s icy glare trapping Tarkin’s steel gaze and vice versa. 

“It’s only a matter of time,” Krennic said, finally.

“Time is in very short supply, Director,” Tarkin said, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs before Krennic’s desk. “My presence here is at the will of the Emperor to see that there are no further complications in the completion of this battle station. If your attention is distracted by pursuing the Erso family then his operation suffers the consequences.”

“I am not distracted,” Krennic said, more defensively than he would have liked.

“Indeed,” Tarkin said. With a single finger he merely grazed the edge of the sleeping datapad before it burst to life again, displaying the image of the Orson and Galen of younger years. 

With an irritated growl, Krennic punched the datapad off entirely. “Thank you for your concern, Governor, but I am handling matters. And before you ask, no it is not personal.”

“That seems to indicate otherwise,” Tarkin countered, nodding to the pad. “I know you do not approve of my presence here, Director, but you would be a fool to not utilize my talents and my contacts while I am here.”

Krennic bristled. He knew what sort of contacts Tarkin referred to and he would be damned if he would let Tarkin’s bounty hunters pursue Galen and risk harming him. No...he would handle matters himself. 

“Yes, I will keep that in mind,” Krennic replied icily. “Now if you are done checking in on me…” He waved a hand to the door.

Tarkin did not move a long moment as if considering...something. His long fingers rose to his narrow jaw, stroking it slowly. 

Krennic was about to snap an inquiry when Tarkin finally spoke. “We all have a picture such as yours that tethers us to the past, Krennic. You may never be rid of it, but you cannot let it consume you.”

“Who was in your picture, Governor?” Krennic deflected.

Tarkin stiffened in his chair. “This is not about me.”

Krennic sneered, honing in on the potential crack in Tarkin’s armor. “Oh come on, let’s see it, Tarkin. Did someone manage to touch that rotten meiloorun you call a heart?”

Tarkin sighed and rose to leave. 

Feeling a rush of bitter victory Krennic continued. “Thank you for your concern of my well-being, Governor. I  _ do _ feel better,” Krennic lilted playfully.

Tarkin waved a dismissive hand as he walked away. “You are hardly worth the concern, you bothersome gnat. I would squash you, if it did not expel so much of my precious energy.”

“Such protest,” Krennic tutted. “Did I hit a nerve?” 

The door hissed open and Tarkin afforded him a final, contemptuous look. “You are insufferable, Orson Krennic.”

Krennic’s heart lurched.

_ “Insufferable? You should feel so lucky to know me now, Galen Erso.” _

“So I’ve been told,” Krennic murmured.

With a roll of his eyes Tarkin walked out of the room. 

Krennic leaned back in his chair, feeling a tug of loneliness weigh on him as the banter was over. Tarkin was shrewd, sharp in cheekbones and wit, Krennic’s equal in every way and his competition in nearly all his dealings within the Empire. The man was a living legend. A cold bastard. Something and everything he aspired to be.

With a tilt of his head he suddenly found himself wondering.

_ What would it take to get the great Moff Tarkin to laugh? _

Krennic dismissed it immediately. He was tired of pursuing men who saw him as little more than a nuisance. He was no longer a child looking for negative attention. If he was destined to be alone it would be to focus on his own achievements, not because of another rejection from someone he was growing feelings for. With some effort he pushed those steel eyes from his thoughts...if only for just a little while.

_ \----- _

Tarkin sat alone at his own desk staring at a datapad in front of him. The image on screen was that of a young Captain Tarkin. His youth did nothing to soften the sharpness of his features, or the seriousness of his form, but his eyes were less steeled, polished with more optimism for the future. Beside him was the image of a young general of the Republic, a fresh faced Jedi master with wild brown hair, and the most intense blue eyes Tarkin had ever encountered. A wide smile split the young man’s scarred face as he looked at the camera.

“Come on! Smile, Captain!” Anakin had teased taking several pictures of the sour-faced Tarkin.

“Whatever for?” Tarkin said, blinking as the flash went off in quick succession.

“Because I’m not going to stop until you do.”

Tarkin rolled his eyes and pulled up one side of his mouth, but his eyes were no longer fixed on the camera…

Tarkin set the image down. That had been a long time ago...another lifetime. A foolish error in his judgement that was useless to reflect upon now.

And yet here he was, decades later, missing that brash young general.

His thoughts drifted to Director Krennic.

Krennic was in many ways like Anakin. Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate...he had bent rules and danced around protocol to get his way. Most of the time it benefitted the Empire. Other times it blew up in his face. Like his err in judgement regarding Galen Erso.

Tarkin steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips.  

_ So much like Anakin… _

That boyish bravado, that indefatigable stubbornness, the relentless challenge of authority. If left uncheck it would be his downfall.

_ Perhaps too much like Anakin. _

The Emperor did, in fact, order Tarkin to come to Sentinel and monitor Director Krennic’s progress, but Tarkin had also positioned himself to be asked to do so. Even if Krennic resented him and his presence, Tarkin would still do everything he could to protect the power-hungry director from himself. 

And perhaps if he could save the director, he would find some way to forgive himself for not being more present for that young jedi all those years ago. 

A comm message lit up on his datapad.

 

[Vader]:  _ Are you unwell? _

 

Tarkin’s heart panged for a moment. He steadied his breath. Of course Vader could sense his distress. 

 

[W. Tarkin]: _ I am well. Just a tiff with the Director, but it is nothing. I just need rest. Thank you, my old friend. _

 

There was no response and Tarkin did not expect one. 

Perhaps there was some sliver of Anakin left within Vader, but they had never spoken of it. And as painful as it was, Tarkin suspected Vader wanted to pretend that that part of his life was dead, as was the boy who lived it. Tarkin did not take it personally, and found comfort in knowing that from time to time, when he felt alone or under duress, Vader... _ Anakin _ ...was there in some regard.

Tarkin turned his thoughts to Krennic once more.

_ You may detest me. You may never understand why I do what I do. But I will not make the same mistakes with you as I did him…I will do what it takes to keep you safe, even from yourself. _

His eyes mist as he looked at the image once again

_ “Come on! Smile, Captain!” _

And Tarkin did, but only for the briefest of moments.


End file.
